Conditional futures
The grave is tended, a blue-wire
fence around it. The marker slants,
a nod to modernity, to the dream
of progress to which he contributed,
manning a bulldozer, clearing a path.
His namesake’s post explains how
despite accidents of gender she
took up his name, lived up to it,
writing out the village stories
told her by his former neighbors.
The ice gave way, the weight
was too much for it, plunging
him with it into the icy waters
of the Angara River. His name
floated east until she caught it.
How far they fly, winter’s birds,
and yet return along the river
or under wood houses’ eaves.
I imagine this, thinking of her,
graveside in the village summer.
Her son will soon be grown,
this place a memory of youth.
Those who knew it as it was
will all be gone. Only the words
live on, their memories’ archive.
Lines die out and a promise goes
missing. Where did progress go?
Tie your Pioneer scarf, young hero
and set your mind where your name
points you, far away and back again.
